


Chalk it up to miscommunication

by daggersandribbons



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Bondage, Choking, Eventual Happy Ending, Gay Sex, M/M, Murder Husbands, Triggers, Unconsciousness, Whump, Whumptober 2019, a mega whump?, nsfwhump, post Gotham finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggersandribbons/pseuds/daggersandribbons
Summary: My first ever Whumptober! Instead of writing one prompt I decided to do a cocktail of different prompts! I used: 7 (isolation), 9 (shackled), 10 (unconscious), 11 (stitches), 12 (“don’t move”), 13 (adrenaline), 14 (tear-stained), 17 (“stay with me”), 19 (asphyxiation), 23 (bleeding out), & 30 (recovery) and while I might not have done this the traditional way it’s certainly whump-y!





	Chalk it up to miscommunication

There had been a caped crusader running around Gotham like he owed the city, a city that rightfully belonged to Oswald Cobblepot and his beloved Ed Nygma. That’s why Oswald planned to finally stop the so called hero once and for all. He had gotten word that Batman had a secret warehouse that he frequented downtown so rather head home first, he went straight to the location. 

As the temperature shifted from the muggy humidity of a Gotham summer night to a frigidness reminiscent of a morgue Oswald stepped into the warehouse. If Batman was here he certainly didn’t spend any of that money on the heating bill. The building was fairly empty, and from the inside appeared much smaller. 

“Don’t move.” A voice growled. 

“If you knew what was best for you, you’d adjust your tone-ngk!” Oswald felt a needle pierce his skin so he turned his head to find that he had been shot with some sort of tranquilizer, and judging by the immediate drowsiness he wasn’t going to have time to make it out the door. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the room, so the raven haired man hoped that the tranquilizer wasn’t shot by a person and that the voice had been simply nerves. It _had_ been awhile since he’d done this sort of thing. 

A divet in the floor caught Oswald’s better foot and he tumbled to the ground, face smashing into the concrete. Blood trickled from his nose to his throat as the Penguin turned to lay on his back before blacking out. 

The first thing Oswald realized was how cold the room was, it was like a damn morgue; and judging by the smell it wasn’t the same room as before. Lights turned on and his predicament was suddenly clear. Shackled to a cot in a nearly empty room, there was definitely someone watching (they just weren’t on the premises). 

“Really? Shackles? Is this 1861? Let me wait with bated breath as you load your musket.” Oswald shouted into the open, the dried blood on his lips flaking off and falling. His heart was racing a mile a minute, the Blackgate guards never let him have any fun so beyond the video games Ed had purchased (“think of them as mental training,” he had said) this was shaping up to be the most violence he’d participated in in awhile. As his eyes flickered downwards, he noticed tear stains amongst the blood. What happened that make him cry, and more importantly, how long had he been out? There was no indication of time in the room, even the door had a buffer at the bottom to block sound and light. 

Lifting his arm the slight amount the entrapment would allow, a sharp pain shot through Oswald’s arm and down his spine. Turning his head to assess, what was seen was stomach turning. A bullet wound, but stitched up by someone who didn’t seem to either know or care about how to do it correctly. 

“What kind of game are you playing here and what kind of man doesn’t know how to properly stitch someone up? It’s like a child did this!” 

That insult seemed to get the response he was hoping for, as a man entered the room. Standing short and slight with caramel skin and dark eyes, he seemed to have a confidence about him that Oswald intended to break. Though never having seen the Batman outside of his suit, the differences in body proportions between him and the man before him meant they weren’t the same person. 

“Is your boss too scared to kill me himself? If you’re going to live in Gotham you can’t be afraid to get your hands dirty!” Oswald chastised. The other man chuckled darkly as he withdrew a handgun. 

“Y’know,” He started, his accent thick like the fog over Gotham’s river. “Boss man said to leave you in one piece, but surely he won’t mind a chunk missing.” Pointing the barrel of the gun at Oswald’s twill dress pants he pulled the trigger, but the kickback was stronger than anticipated and his hand jerked upwards shooting the stomach rather than the thigh. Both men raised their eyebrows in shock and for a moment Oswald felt threatened, until he realized that the other man was just as surprised. 

Before Oswald could open his mouth the man ran out the door, leaving the penguin to scream obscenities as blood began to trickle down his stomach. 

~~~

Ed Nygma sat in his husband’s office munching on some chicken fried rice. He glanced over at Oswald’s beef and broccoli, it was getting cold. Their schedules hadn’t called for anything at night so the fact that his beloved wasn’t home was perplexing to him. The shrill ringing of the phone ringing filled Ed’s ears and he picked it up with haste. 

“Yullo? We got the guy Mister Nygma and I know you wanted to be the one to kill him but...well things escalated and now he’s bleeding out so you should probably get down here quick if ya wanna finish him off.” 

The tall man was equal parts pleased and annoyed. On one hand he finally had Batman in his grasp for him and Oswald to play with like cats with a mouse; but he specifically told his hired help to only rough him up, not wound him. What was the fun of a dead mouse?

Topping his head with his signature bowler hat, Ed headed downtown to the elaborate trap he had placed. Had he told Oswald about it? Not exactly, he had planned to gift him with a (slightly bruised and battered) Batman once he finally captured him. 

Rather than confront his foe immediately, he first wanted to check the camera. The quality of the video wasn’t the greatest, not that it had been ten years earlier when it was bought, but it did the job. He tapped a key and zoomed in to assess his victims damage. When he saw the bleeding man on screen he turned the volume up. 

_Is your boss too scared to kill me himself? If you’re going to live in Gotham you can’t be afraid to get your hands dirty!_

“Oh dear.”

~~

It felt like years before the door swung open and smacked against the wall. 

“It’s about fucking time someone came down he-“

“Oswald I am so _extremely_ sorry.”

Five words he had heard many times from a voice strikingly similar to the one he was hearing it from in that moment. As Oswald struggled to crane his neck to shoot daggers of ice into his husband with his eyes. 

“Thought you were over trying to kill me Eddie, what did I do this time? Is this really over the whole cinnamon bun incident?” The older male coughed. Ed frantically shook his head no, the last thing he intended to do was hurt Oswald. One morning Oswald had taken the last cinnamon roll when Ed had intended to eat it. From there the taller mans day only got worse until it ended with him lashing out at his beloved. 

“What? No! This wasn’t intended for you at all.” Noticing the blood loss, he knew he couldn’t explain himself before Oswald bled out and keeping the bullet in wasn’t looking to be a much better plan; maybe he could kill two birds with one stone by removing the bullet, giving him ample time to explain while he saved his husband. 

Though Ed tried his best to explain that the trap had been intended for Batman and the lackeys he had hired were just idiots, Oswald didn’t seem to care. He scolded him within an an inch of his life, but at least that meant he wasn’t not angry enough to give the silent treatment. 

Ed had been primarily focusing on minor surgery he was performing until he leaned back to grab some clean bandage, inching his ass across Oswald’s tented groin area. He looked up at him, trying his best to suppress a smile. 

“Are you...does this...make you horny?” 

If looks could kill, Ed Nygma would’ve been pronounced dead on the spot. 

“First of all, never use that term again. I’m not some teenage boy, but if you could admit that you like bring the little spoon, I guess I can admit to liking this.” Oswald grumbled. Ed was thrilled. 

“Such a masochist, Ozzie. You’ve had a hard day so just lay back and relax, let me take care of you and make up for what I did.” Ed offered, though they both knew the older male wouldn’t let him off that easily. But now that the bullet was out he could actually relax and enjoy the show.

As Ed yanked Oswald’s pants down he was delighted to see his hardened cock smack against his stomach, lacking any underwear to confine it. Even though he had been out of Blackgate for almost a year he hadn’t re-integrated that part of his daily dress. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Ed marveled. There was something so deeply erotic about the whole scene: Oswald bound to the table and still dressed in a white button up with a charcoal colored overcoat, but bare below the waist with his cock now leaking precum. The taller man ran a slender finger along the underside of the throbbing member and collecting some of the fluid before popping his finger into his mouth. 

“Mmm, delicious.” He purred, setting his eyes on his husbands soft, glorious thighs. While below the knee was covered in permanent scars, his thighs were unscathed. Ed pressed his lips to the pale thigh and ran his tongue along the inner flesh up and down before sinking his teeth in. Sounds of the shackles clinking filled the otherwise silent room as Oswald jolted and let out a yelp that turned to a mewl at the drop of a hat. He wanted so badly to be able to pin Ed down and fuck him (or ride him, he hadn’t decided which sounded better) but he agreed to relax and let his husband be in charge. 

After he stopped for a moment to admire the nice teeth marks he had made, Ed looked up. 

“Bet you liked that, didn’t you? You like it when I’m rough pretty bird, bet you don’t even need warmed up. Is that correct?” 

Oswald agreed, and Ed moved to remove his own pants and undergarments. Luckily for both of them the trap was built for a taller man, so rather than being pinned down his legs had some room to move. Since neither of them had planned on a romantic encounter there was no lube at their disposal, but since roughness seemed to be the general theme of the evening saliva would do just fine. The act of spitting wasn’t one that Oswald found particularly attractive but in that moment seeing Ed spit into his hand and stroke himself was like porn (not that he’d ever admit to watching porn). 

There were two things Ed would never get tired of: subpar Chinese food, and the raw heat of his husband as his length slid in between his perfect ass and inside of him. Oswald let out a quick sigh of relief as the taller man buried himself to the hilt. They locked eyes sharing a wordless declaration of love before Ed set the pace. 

It was thrilling to be completely at the mercy of Ed. He was the only adversary worth praise, and the Oswald’s true soulmate. 

“Fucking choke me.” Oswald growled. The look of worry that flashed across the taller mans face was adorable. Though Ed had been choked by his husband many times, he himself was weary of reversing the roles. 

“I _ah_ trust you, now choke me _Riddler_.” 

Hands flew to the pale neck at lightning speed. The tiny gasps for air mixed with the loud slapping noises made for a beautiful symphony. As Oswald felt the heat building in his core, he found it increasingly more difficult to keep his eyes open. Every time his eyes opened the view of Ed fucking him became blurrier and blurrier. 

“You’re so perfect Oswald, I’m gonna fill that perfect fucking ass.” The taller male moaned, taking his hands off of the neck to grip his lovers hips as he was sent over the edge. Upon orgasm, Ed collapsed on top of his husband. Another benefit of the weight his bird had gained was now he had his own personal pillow twenty four seven. 

He rested for a moment as he came down from the high of sex until the realization hit him that Oswald wasn’t breathing in time with him, in fact Oswald wasn’t breathing at all. 

“No no no no! Ozzie please don’t be dead, stay with me please.” Ed begged as he began to remove the shackles, repeating the phrase _stay with me_ as he worked. While on the final one, Oswald’s baby blue eyes opened and he gasped. His husband stared at him like a deer in the headlights, waiting for him to speak first but when no words came the lanky man scooped up Oswald into his arms and rested him on the pile of clothes on the floor. 

One of the many perks of being a notorious criminal is that there is always someone that’s a fan of your work willing to do anything no questions asked, so when Ed asked for a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a blanket his intentions weren’t questioned. It was about an hour before the bird finally spoke, curled up in his blanket burrito. 

“If Batman gets this type of treatment every day, I don’t see how being a hero is supposedly so hard.” He murmured.

“Are you saying you’d like me to chain you up every day, ravage you, then feed you ice cream every day?” Ed chuckled. Oswald pondered the question for a moment before responding. 

“Of course not...just ice cream would get boring.” 

Once Oswald had gained enough strength to stand up the couple went home for cuddles and cognac.


End file.
